


The Price of Defeat

by aleksrothis



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Forced Relationship, Gentle rapist, M/M, Spoils of War, Unwilling Arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-16 02:26:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19308742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleksrothis/pseuds/aleksrothis
Summary: When France win the invasion of Britain, Laurence finds himself Napoleon's prisoner.An alternate ending to Victory of Eagles





	The Price of Defeat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psychomachia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/gifts).



Laurence had been in captivity for nearly two weeks before he heard the news that the King had surrendered to Napoleon. It weighed on him that perhaps he and Temeraire could have made a difference if they had stayed free longer but, when he heard of Lien’s attack on the Navy and Nelson’s death, he had to accept there was nothing he could have done.

Though Laurence doesn’t see any other prisoners during this time, he suspects there may be others being held in the same London townhouse. The accomodations the French provide him are far superior to the prison ship, and he is treated far beyond the expectations of a prisoner of war. He is provided with fresh trousers and shirts in good quality fabrics and they even offer to launder his officer’s coat.

Days after the surrender, Laurence is informed they will be moving him, along with other significant prisoners, back to France. The ship that carries them to Calais is also transporting another English dragon, a Chequered Nettle, and her captain who Laurence only recognises in passing. He is embarrassed to realise he can’t immediately remember either of their names but perhaps Temeraire will know.

He expects to be thrown into the same makeshift prison as the other British captain so is surprised to be led on past the forecastle. "Your cabin's below deck," one of the French guards tells him.

“Why does he get special treatment?” the other aviator demands as they pass.

Their captors push Laurence forwards. “Who are you to question the Emperor’s orders?” one of them counters dismissively.

Laurence shudders at the thought of what Napoleon might have in mind for him but the strongest reaction comes from the other aviator.

They clearly recognise him as their expression changes and they spit at him. “Traitor! You’re a disgrace to that uniform. I knew they should have hung you.”

Laurence longs to defend himself but he doesn’t think speaking ill of Napoleon would serve him well on a French ship so he stays silent.

Their words become fainter as he is pushed down the ladder to the deck below, where the midshipmen would be quartered on a British ship but the last words he catches are, “What did old Boney offer you to betray your country?”

The accusation is like a blade between his ribs and Laurence stumbles, even as they guide him through a doorway. He somehow merits his own cabin, though it doesn’t have a window. He lays down on the bare mattress, the aviator’s words still echoing in his mind, causing his stomach to churn. They still haven’t left port hours later when he is finally lulled to sleep by the motion of the waves. 

Their arrival in France is even more confusing. He is met by François De Mornay, a diplomat dressed as a courtier, who clearly knows exactly who Laurence is and greets him as a guest rather than a prisoner. He refuses to answer any of Laurence's questions though he is sympathetic as he informs him that, "Unfortunately you must be separated from your Temeraire for our journey. I give you my personal assurance you will be reunited in Paris."

Laurence is reluctant but he has no choice but to agree to the separation while Temeraire is cowed into compliance by one of the guards pointing his pistol at Laurence. He wishes he could call their bluff, since they have so far seemed unwilling to harm him but Laurence dare not count upon it lasting. The deference with which the French treat him is unnerving. It is from De Mornay during one of their overnight stops that Laurence learns Napoleon had personally arranged for his capture and ensured he would received gentle treatment. The Frenchman gives Laurence a pitying look as he tells him this and Laurence is left more baffled than before. What did Napoleon want with him so badly?

Once they are back in Paris, Laurence is escorted to the Tuileries Palace, which wasn't at all what he was expecting. He has a suite of well-appointed rooms, though their only windows look out onto internal courtyards or corridors and they are all barred. It is essentially a very ornate cage in which he is left to await Napoleon's return. He is even provided with servants, though as Laurence doesn’t speak French and it is clear those sent speak no English he cannot demand any information. Still, they are very obliging given he ought to be a hated enemy.

De Mornay keeps his word and Laurence is taken to see Temeraire everyday, but he is escorted at all times so they have no privacy to come up with a plan of escape. Instead Temeraire has a lot to say about the things he saw travelling across France as it seems their captors had taken the time to give him a propaganda tour.

It hurts a little that Temeraire is so easily impressed by the French treatment of dragons and the work being done to accommodate them better but Laurence cannot deny the French method is more sympathetic to the dragons.

Though he is supposed to be busy with negotiations in London, Napoleon somehow finds the time to travel back to Paris frequently and visit with Laurence. 

Their first few meetings are stilted, with Napoleon seemingly content to walk at his side, ignoring the guards following them, and speak of inconsequential things. Napoleon seems genuinely keen to ensure Laurence is being treated well but refuses to give any reason for his extended captivity, only saying that his status is being negotiated.

Though he appreciates the sentiment, Laurence doesn't think Napoleon advocating on his behalf will convince the Admiralty to treat him better, nor will this further stay in France improve his reputation.

After those early meetings, when Laurence attends in his uniform, he is provided with court clothes even more uncomfortable than the Chinese formal robes. He does manage to negotiate for a servant to come and shave him, since he isn't allowed a razor, but he is forced to continue letting his hair grow out.

Their next meeting, Napoleon greets him with a warm embrace, something which had taken some getting used to, and when he pulls back, hands still resting on Laurence’s shoulders, his gaze sweeps up and down Laurence’s body.

“Stunning," Napoleon tells him. "This waistcoat really brings out the colour in your eyes.”

Uncertain how he is supposed to respond to such a compliment, Laurence awkwardly changes the subject.

Napoleon rests a hand proprietarily on him as they walk and Laurence can feel the weight of many eyes upon them. He hates the way they all seem to assume that he is there of his own free will. Even Napoleon speaks to him as though he has forgotten Laurence is a prisoner.

Their meetings become such a regular enough occurrence that Laurence starts to wonder if Napoleon is taking such long flights purely to see him but he dismisses the thought as fanciful. Surely a man of Napoleon's intelligence has simply worked out he could overcome the challenges of ruling an Empire by physically being wherever he was needed at any given time. For a confident aviator a ten hour flight was, if not trivial, then certainly not excessively onerous, and he could probably do much of his work of state from a writing desk on Lien's back.

It isn’t long after this that Laurence finally learns why he has been brought here and treated so well. He is told to expect a visit and it only takes him a moment to recognise Maitland, Earl of Lauderdale, who is introduced as an ambassador.

The Earl looks down his nose at Laurence as he tells him, with fake regret, that, “The military were glad to sign you over as part of their surrender negotiations. You are no longer a British officer. You can be Bonaparte’s problem now and good luck to him.”

Laurence feels as though iron bands are wrapped around his chest. “What do you mean?” He didn't think his actions were worthy of such repudiation.

“Napoleon has decided to take you as his consort.” Maitland looks almost smug.

At first Laurence is confused, assumes something has been lost in translation. He can't have heard that right. “You can’t mean?” He can feel his face growing hot at the very thought. "Surely such a thing is illegal!"

“Not in France apparently. Besides," Maitland sneers, "I would have thought as a naval man, you would be used to such things.” 

“Do I not get a say in this?” Laurence protests. His head is spinning, as this casts all of Napoleon's attentions in a different light.

“You should have thought of that before committing treason," says Maitland, rich satisfaction in his voice. "Well here’s a way you can atone. Do you think your objections are more important than serving your country?”

Laurence has no answer to that. Maitland departs, leaving Laurence’s thoughts in turmoil. He was in the Navy long enough to be familiar with the concept of what two men might do together but had never succumbed to that particular vice himself.

Although he hasn’t been asked for his opinion, Laurence tries to bring the subject up with Napoleon the next time he sees him. “He said I was to be your ‘consort’ but I don’t understand what he meant…” 

Napoleon turns to him, resting a hand on his forearm. “Will you not be my Hephaestion?” he asks.

It seemed fitting that Napoleon would see himself as a modern Alexander but Laurence wasn't sure what to make of his own role. Is he a prisoner, as the locks on his door and constant guard suggests, or a trusted confidante of the emperor, as Napoleon insists on treating him. Still, either is an improvement on catamite, which was the implication Maitland had given him.

"I'm not sure what you want from me," Laurence hates how unsure he sounds but Napoleon only smiles at him, before dismissing his concerns.

“I am not a cruel man, William. I think you can be happy here with me.”

Laurence isn't convinced. The thought of losing his family, friends and home comforts don't sound like grounds for happiness. Admittedly becoming an aviator had already upturned his world and lost him a number of his old friends. Then his necessary but still treasonous act of bringing the cure to France had lost him still more. He probably had more public support in France than England but it was hard to make a home somewhere you didn't speak the language.

He wants to protest but Napoleon is still talking. “I have always admired your nobility and honour. Just think of what we could achieve together.”

The thought flashes through Laurence’s mind of things he could ask for from a position of trust, how he could redirect Napoleon’s ambition, but it isn’t worth his freedom. Nor can he bring himself to go along with Napoleon’s plans to conquer the whole of Europe, let alone the rest of the world. 

Napoleon spent their next few visits trying to persuade Laurence of all the ways he will make his new life in France pleasant. He brings him treats of English food, books, and newspapers. When they talk of politics, he is keen to demonstrate his willingness to consider Laurence's opinion. For his cooperation, Laurence is given a little more freedom now, but not enough to plan an escape. Besides, returning to England is no longer an option when they are the ones who have signed him over and China is a long way across hostile territory.

Laurence has been a prisoner now for three months as summer has turned to autumn. Being realistic, there’s no chance he can provision a dragon the size of Temeraire through the winter alone, so they are trapped here until the spring. Perhaps he can pretend to Napoleon that he has been swayed by his arguments, wait for him to let down his guard.

The worst scenario, the one that keeps giving Laurence sleepless nights, is the one where he comes around to thinking of that pretence as anything less than a betrayal of his country. He has heard of prisoners who eventually came to sympathise with their captors but tries to convince himself it will not come to that. Although he had disobeyed orders and been accused of treason, in his heart he had always been honouring the virtues that made him English.

At least Laurence is somewhat relieved that there will be no formal ceremony announcing his official status but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. It is clear everyone at court knows his role and he feels they are laughing at him behind their fans. Napoleon pays them no heed but it obviously to Laurence how they stop talking when he walks past and he feels under constant scrutiny.

As time passes and Napoleon makes no further advances towards him, Laurence begins to hope it has all been a misunderstanding. Napoleon has asked him for nothing more untoward than military and political advice. 

Though Napoleon is quick to lay a hand on Laurence’s shoulder, or hand, or even his waist at every opportunity, and slow to pull away, Laurence even finds himself justifying the casual touching. It is the French fashion to be more free with their affection and he has seen numerous men engaging in the same level of contact. They cannot all share such unnatural tastes.

However, once Napoleon returns to Paris for good, there is a sudden rush and all his justifications come to nothing. The usual servants return and though he resists, Laurence is taken to be bathed, shaved and perfumed. He is given a simple white nightshirt like a virgin on her wedding night, which feels worryingly apt, and he realises too late that's exactly what is intended when Napoleon enters the room dressed in a silk banyan loose enough to show he is naked underneath.

Laurence hadn’t really considered what he’d do if it came to this. He had sworn an oath of service to the King and his country and, even the British government had handed him over without so as a by your leave, his honour demands he obey their decree and see this through 

On the other hand, every horror story he'd heard as a boy in the Navy comes rushing back to him. “By god, you can’t do this,” Laurence objects, feeling a rising fear. 

Napoleon approaches slowly, almost treating Laurence like a nervous horse he was trying to calm. Though Laurence wants to get away he can’t. He feels frozen in place.

“I’ve been patient, William,” Napoleon says, as he reaches out and strokes Laurence’s arm. “There is no more need for playing coy.”

Laurence can feel the heat of Napoleon’s touch through the thin shirt and his stomach is knotted with nerves. "Just stop, please," he says, trying to shake off Napoleon's hand but he just tightens his grip. 

Napoleon catches him looking towards the door and frowns. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, William. There are guards on the door. If you try to run, you won't get far.”

He leans in then and Laurence only realises his intention as their lips meet, just a gentle pressure at first. Laurence had expected force, to be repulsed by the act, but it doesn’t feel so different from any of the kisses he has experienced before.

Laurence gasps out a breath but, though Napoleon breaks the kiss, he doesn’t pull back far. His hand comes up to brush against Laurence’s cheek, then combs through his loose hair, and Laurence shudders. Somehow realising Napoleon intends to be tender makes it worse. He could fight the brutality he’d expected but he doesn’t know how to resist tenderness.

Laurence tries to back away but too soon he feels the bed-frame against his legs, just before he is pressed back onto the mattress. Napoleon follows him down, bracketing Laurence’s body with his own limbs, and he is trapped.

Now they are pressed against each other, Laurence can feel all the differences between Napoleon and his past lovers. The flat chest means they are closer together, broad shoulders and strong thighs hold him, and body hair rubs against his own, adding to the sensation.

“Mon cher, relax and let me show you how good it can be,” Napoleon says, his tone still soothing as he presses light kisses to Laurence’s neck and jawline.

There is nowhere for Laurence to go, pinned under Napoleon’s weight as the Frenchman’s hands trace his body, reaching the hem of his nightshirt and slowly pushing it up, baring Laurence’s skin.

Laurence wants to object but he doesn’t think it would make a difference so instead he closes his eyes. If he could, as clichéd as it would be, lie back and think of England, it would be one thing but Napoleon insists on his participation.

“Tell me what feels good,” he demands, as he explores Laurence’s body with light touches. “Let me hear you,” he says as he presses kisses to previously untouched flesh, rakes his fingers through the hair on Laurence’s chest. “I would like to know what pleases you.”

He doesn’t want to encourage this but Laurence has never had a lover so attentive to his every response. It might have been pleasant if he'd ever wanted Napoleon as a lover, instead it’s overwhelming. The only silver lining is that he doesn't seem to be expected to reciprocate just submit.

Laurence tries to relax and let it happen, thinking perhaps he can try to imagine another, someone more to his liking, in Napoleon’s place, and his body eventually responds to the stimulation. Napoleon finds sensitive spots no previous lover had done, some Laurence hadn’t even known he had - the hinge of his jaw, his collarbone, the crease of his hip and soon he is fully hard.

It makes Laurence tremble as he tries to fight the instinct to rut against the warm body pressed against him. He clenches his fists, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as Napoleon moves down between his legs but they are startled open as he feels wet heat engulf his cock. Napoleon smiles up at him with satisfaction at his reaction. "I thought this would convince you."

Though he had seen such things in sailors’ bars, Laurence had never asked a lover to perform such an act, thinking it would be humiliating. Instead he can’t draw his gaze away from the intoxicating sight. Napoleon seems to delight in drawing his pleasure out this way and Laurence is helpless to resist, soft moans escaping him as his hips try to rock up into the incredible warm cavern.

Laurence is close to spending, no longer fighting his body, when Napoleon moves his hands from holding down his hips to his buttocks, then his hot mouth moves lower. Laurence tries to scramble away, pushing against Napoleon’s shoulders as he turns his attention first to Laurence’s stones and then down further still. He might as well not have bothered as Napoleon is unmoved.

Napoleon’s lips press against his inner cheeks and Laurence cries out when he reaches his hole, feeling hot breath against such an intimate area. He tries to pull his thighs together but Napoleon holds him steady.

A probing finger presses against his entrance and Laurence feels dizzy at the horror of what is happening. His reserve slips and he starts pleading with the Emperor, “Please. You don’t have to do this. I'll do anything you want.” 

For a moment, he has some hope as Napoleon pulls back but it is only to reach for a small corked jug on the cabinet beside the bed. “ Of course you will, William. You're mine now.”

His words make something in Laurence snap and, with the momentary loosening of his hold, Laurence tries to flee a final time but Napoleon quickly wraps strong arms tightly around him from behind. 

Laurence can feel his cockstand hot and thick against his thighs and panic steals his reason as he kicks out, tries to pummel his fists against Napoleon's arms but to no avail. If Laurence had been at his full strength, he believes he could have resisted but, after more than a month of inaction, he is outmatched.

Napoleon doesn't even flinch, instead leaning down to whisper in his ear, "You don't need to put up such a fight, William, it is just the two of us here. There is no-one to defend your virtue to."

Laurence wants to argue but the words stick in his throat. Is Napoleon right? His body had responded to the Frenchman’s touch, so can he truthful say he doesn’t want this? Then his reason reasserts himself, reminding him of the unnatural nature of what Napoleon wants to do to him, and he knows he will not come through this unscathed.

Napoleon pushes him back down onto the bed, lying half on top of him and Laurence tries to resist. He could bear the other indignities, had even managed to find some pleasure in them but surely this act couldn't help but cause him pain.

Napoleon strokes Laurence’s hair as though to calm a hysterical civilian until he stops struggling, exhausted from the effort. He feels completely at Napoleon's mercy; spread out like a maiden in one of the terrible romance novels he’d had to confiscate from Emily. 

He might not have a maidenhead to lose but he didn't expect that to make it any less painful, especially as he doesn't have a woman's natural essence to ease the way. Laurence closes his eyes, braced for the anticipated pain.

"Look at me, William," Napoleon commands him and Laurence reluctantly obeys, watching as Napoleon tips oil of some sort onto his fingers, then reaches for Laurence again, speaking sweetly to him, “My dearest, how long I have wanted this.”

Despite his protests, Napoleon slowly works a finger into him. The oil helps it slide in, but even so, his thick knuckles pull at Laurence’s rim. He tries to clench down, to resist the intrusion but Napoleon isn't deterred, pressing in another even as Laurence can feel his muscles burning with the strain.

All too soon, Napoleon withdraws his fingers and Laurence feels a cold wash of fear at the thought of what is to come. Sodomy was the final humiliation but Laurence reminds himself he is a British officer and finds some measure of disassociation. His body is only a vessel and he had practice ignoring unpleasant sensations, he can do so again. Numb to the humiliation, Laurence lies still as Napoleon applies oil to his own cock and then pushes into him.

There is none of the tearing pain he had expected. After all the fearful anticipation, Laurence finds the act itself more uncomfortable than painful. It is a sensation he supposes he could become accustomed to, though he then promptly feels a wave of panic at the thought that this might happen frequently enough that he could get used to it.

His erection had flagged at the discomfort and shame of being penetrated but now Napoleon reaches for Laurence's cock, coaxing him to hardness. In some ways, this is worse that the act of sodomy itself, his own body being turned against him and Laurence tries to fight it.

Napoleon finds a rhythm of alternating thrusts with stroking Laurence and he can’t help the pleasure that sparks through him. He bites his tongue, then the inside of his mouth, trying to avoid giving Napoleon any encouragement but that doesn't seem to bother him, as he keeps up a stream of endearments in English and increasingly in French.

Laurence tries to block out the words, let them wash over him, but there is nowhere for him to go. The discomfort in his rear increases as Napoleon speeds up, movements becoming erratic. Laurence realises that he must be close to finishing and tries to bear it, knowing it will be over soon.

Then there is a shock of hot liquid deep inside and he prays they are done but Napoleon isn’t finished with him. He redoubles his focus on stroking Laurence’s cock, his grip firm but not too tight. Laurence tries to stave off the pleasure, focusing on the disconcerting feeling of Napoleon's cock softening inside him, but Napoleon seems determined to bring him off.

Despite himself Laurence can’t prevent his release though he clenches his teeth together to stay silent through it. Napoleon doesn’t seem to mind as he brings his hand up to his mouth and actually licks his fingers clean of Laurence’s seed.

Laurence’s stomach churns at that, fearing he will be forced to reciprocate. Napoleon leans in to kiss him then, his tongue stroking at the seam of Laurence’s lips. He cannot turn his head away and eventually Laurence has no choice but to concede. The taste is unpleasant, sharp and sour, but not as vile as he had feared.

When Napoleon finally pulls back, he wears an expression of deep satisfaction, as his eyes sweep possessively up Laurence’s exposed body. “Like this, you are so beautiful to me. I think you will learn to want it as much as I do.”

Fortunately Napoleon doesn’t seem to expect a response and Laurence can only pray it will not come to that.

Napoleon gets up and fetch a cloth, dampens it from the water pitcher, and returns to the bed to clean him up gently. There is a soreness that makes Laurence flinch as he wipes away his seed but Napoleon doesn’t comment further.

He goes to the door and Laurence thinks he is free for now but Napoleon only has a quiet conversation with the guards before coming back and Laurence realises he intends to sleep in the same bed.

Although he doesn’t want any touch, he lets himself be arranged so Napoleon is lying against his back with an arm around his waist. His eyes burn as he blinks away unmanly tears that threaten to fall.

Laurence lies awake for a long time, the weight of Napoleon’s arm like a shackle. He is conscious of the unfamiliar ache inside him. 

The dream of escape is stronger now; if this is to be his life now, perhaps it would be worth the risk to get away but it would surely be worse if he were caught. There are still things Napoleon could take from him and Laurence doesn't know whether this gently cruel lover or the ruthless statesman is the truer persona. But he also doesn’t know if he can go through this again.


End file.
